Stitches
by ImmortalzSuicide
Summary: This is my first PUBLIC fan-fiction, so please be kind. This deals with mature themes such as depression, bouts with insanity, self-injury and substance abuse. Non-Yaoi
1. Prologue Reflections

*waves* Hiya. This is just a small disclaimer saying that, well, much to my own dismay I do NOT own Gundam Wing, nor its characters, names, likenesses, yada yada yada... Ah but what fun it would be to own it, eh? Having your own army of mentally unstable teenagers to run rampages across the planet with *Starry eyes* Ah...  
  
A guys gotta dream, you know.  
  
Anyways now that the disclaimers done, here's a couple of warnings.  
  
This Fic will be HEAVILY Angsty, it deals with depression, self-injury, and all the lovely little taboos of insanity. There will be coarse language and perhaps a few graphic scenes here and there, but that comes later once I update.  
  
This is a NON-Yaoi Fic, got nothing against Yaoi, but it's just not my bag.  
  
Ok now that all that stupid stuffs out of the way, onto the actual uh... Prologue I guess 'cause it's too damn short to be a chapter. PLEASE Review!  
  
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A drop of blood spilt to the floor, I watched it spin gracefully through the air, it seemed to be moving so slow, but then again everything moved slow anymore. The small red bead reached the ground and exploded with a ~ploink~ into the growing puddle, then another dripped, and another, I watched for what felt like days, as each drop added to the small pool of my blood resting on the tile. I laughed then, long, loud, and hysterical laughter echoing through an empty house. I don't know why I laughed, there was no humor in the sound, instead there was an edge of desperation, of insanity... Nothing was funny, nothing was bringing me joy, happiness, nothing was giving me anything but a wish that the blood on the floor was leaking from my wrists, but I couldn't stop, the laughter kept coming and screaming my insanity for all the world to hear, and when the laughter stopped, the tears came.  
  
Yeah, isn't that just magical. Crying yet again. That's all I could seem to find it in me to do, cry tears laced with tortured screams. Weep and scream for hours, sometimes days, on end, never stopping until my voice was nothing more then a hoarse croak emanating from shattered vocal cords. Cry until there was nothing left to cry and the tears simply ran dry, leaving my body wracked with bone breaking sobs. They had to be bone breaking, 'cause the Valium and whiskey had been gone for days and the searing ache in my rib cage wouldn't seem to go away. Searing... Like my mind... God it just wouldn't leave me alone, that voice... Always the voice in my head, screaming at me forever... Another sob wracked through my broken ribs, snapping me from my reverie, bringing me back to the cold, hard, tile floor of my bathroom. The blood was still flowing freely from my arm.   
  
Damn it, that ones deep, definitely going to need stitches... I sighed, audibly, and let the bloody razor slip from my trembling fingers. Pulling my body up to the counter, I was confronted by the same stranger that always seemed to await me behind that glass, the face that never ceased to bring out the very depths of my anger, hatred, and confusion, the face of a man I used to be. Ignoring him, I picked up an adjunct bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured a large amount onto the gaping cut. I watched, transfixed, as the liquid bubbled and hissed among the blood, but something was wrong, I could see what was happening but something was missing. I couldn't feel it burn, I couldn't feel the ache of the cut, the ache I knew was there, screaming unto deaf ears its tales of agony, the agony of having been ripped apart so violently... I knew it was there but I just couldn't feel the pain... I felt so fucking... empty...  
  
"Soldiers don't feel pain." A voiceless monotone spoke  
  
"Shut up..." I whispered hoarsely  
  
"Pathetic boy, what's wrong with you?" It mocked  
  
"I said shut up!" I spat, concentrating on the task of dressing the wound, after all this damn time the instinct never faded away, I always dressed my wounds. I concentrated harder, trying to block out that voice, though I knew it was pointless... It never shut up, it was always there, always mocking, always berating me. It was the voice of my madness.  
  
"You never learn." Came that same monotone, "Look at me."  
  
"No..."  
  
"Look at me!" It shouted  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I screamed, glaring hotly at the smooth reflective surface before me, wishing for once I'd see the person I was. To see the ratty, unwashed brown hair I knew covered my head, to see the hollow, sunken eyes and dark bags beneath them contrasting with my sickly pale skin. Just once... I wanted to see my own grotesquely thin face in that goddamn mirror... But I was never there... It was always him.  
  
"You're pathetic! The great Gundam pilot, savior of Earth itself, sunk so low." Mocking... He was always mocking me... "Sad, sad boy, so pathetic. Do you see what you've become without me? Without my guidance?"  
  
"Why... Why won't you ever just shut up?!" I cried, locking eyes with my "reflection," and pouring every ounce of my soul deep hatred out into those fucking cold eyes... Always cold... So cold... Those emotionless pools of Prussian blue, laced with that never ending mockery... and that glow... Always that maddening glow I could never quite place, gone as soon as I looked for it but clear as day out of the corners of my eyes. Through all the insanity, madness, and inebriated stupors, I always seen that fucking glow, and somehow deep down I knew my sunken, blood shot eyes were not deceiving me, but I could never figure out where it came from... "I... I hate you..."  
  
Heero Yui, Gundam pilot, the Perfect Soldier, pathetic and insane. What would they think of me now... What would Wufei's pride and integrity think of my state, and what of Quatre's kindred spirit, and Trowa's quiet understanding... Would he truly understand? Of course not... No one could... No one knew what I was going through, no one knew and no one cared... How could anyone care? And what of Relena? The young leader of a fledgling alliance who had followed me to all four corners of the Earth and even out into space itself, what would she think of me? What of... Duo...  
  
"Aw..." The voice said in mock distress, bringing me back from the dark recesses of my mind, "But I love you!" I glared at the face of my hatreds, and watched as all the tiny pieces fell to the counter in a clatter.  
  
Damn... That's gonna need stitches.  
  
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That's it, for the prologue, hope you enjoyed it. A fun topic seems to be Duo being mentally-ill, so I figured, why not use Heero as the psycho for once... ^_^ Anyways, *points towards the review option* Ya know you wanna do it! Succumb!  
  
Ohhh and before I forget! If you DID enjoy this, then I urge you to go read Scar Tissue by Amanda 02, it is a G-R-E-A-T Fic, one of my all time favorites. It can be found at: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=351566  
  
Enjoy ^_^ 


	2. Chapter 1 Awakening

Disclaimer - I do not own Gundam Wing, yada yada.

Well then, I started this story a long time ago, but got distracted (Damn you ADD, damn you.) and decided to start it back up. I was unhappy with the first chapter, I felt I rushed things way too much, I realize this replacement chapter is probably much shorter, but a better read.

I hope to make a decent story out of this, but we'll see.

So here's the re-written Chapter 1 of Stitches, and with any luck there might acctually be a second and third coming.

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Consciousness came back to me slowly, came back to me painfully, I fought the agony I knew awaited me with what little strength I had left. I had no wish to be awake, in fact I dare say I feared being awake; there were no uncertainties in my sleep, there was nothing I hadn't faced a thousand times over, there were no new demons awaiting me there. So I rebelled, I lashed out against my body's increasing alertness, I tried my damnedest to sink back into the oblivion from whence I came, but as with everything in my short and utterly pointless life: I failed.

Vaguely I became aware of pain, it was steadily increasing with my wakefulness, and with it I felt my mind recoiling. It wasn't that I was unaccustomed to pain, on the contrary pain was one of the few things I could call a stability in my existence, it was the only thing that had never abandoned me.

_They didn't abandon you, you know. No, no you abandoned them. A birthday card and a Teddy Bear to make everything better, then you just walked away._

There it was again, the other mainstay in my life, my undeniable insanity. I wondered wryly if there were even medical labels for the things that went on inside of my head, I figured there probably were but in a life where you've got very little to truly call your own, there's a small note of twisted pride in believing you've birthed your own set of unique "diseases." A small part of my mind laughed at this notion, as I was once the great soldier, I owned a machine that held the balance of life and death inside it's gundanium hands. I owned a piece of death itself, as Duo Maxwell might say.

Duo...

I sighed audibly at the thought of the braided man, how long had it been since I seen him? I didn't know, I couldn't remember the last time that I'd known the date or even the time of day; it felt like years and for all I honestly knew it could have been that and so much more. I wondered silently if he thought about me from time to time, I doubted it really, I was never particularly close with any of the other pilots. Still there was no denying the fact that of all the people I encountered during the war or my entire life for that matter, Duo Maxwell, the self proclaimed God of Death, was the closest thing I ever had to a friend. A thought that elicited another long and drawn out sigh, a motion that sent my lungs into a screaming fury, I decided miserably that either my ribs were broken or someone ripped open my chest, pissed in my lungs, and sewed me back up in my sleep. Logic told me the former, but the fact that I really had no idea where the hell I was inside my own house gave the latter chilling levels of realism.

So I did what seemed like the best idea at the time, I opted to ignore what felt like a punctured lung and prepared myself for the motions of getting out of whatever bed I had woken up in, taking a nice long piss, and ransacking my house until I found some sort of drug or alcoholic beverage that would numb my body.

_Ah yes, one more trip to the liquor cabinate. One more day spent running from your life, one more cowards way out._

"Shut the fuck up." I mumbled at myself, feeling that it was far to early to be having yet another argument with this empty house. I rolled sluggishly over to the edge of my bed and immediately regretted it, what was before just the ever present dull ache resonating through my body quickly turned into an intense and blinding agony coursing through every single one of my limbs. I had put just enough muscle behind the roll to get me to the edge of the bed, however not expecting the assault on my senses I was no longer ready to roll my feet onto the floor and stumble my way from there. With a sickening thud my malnourished body landed on the mahogany floor, increasing the pains I was feeling ten-fold, I let out a pained groan that easily border-lined the "tortured scream" level, and fought against the nausea that was rising in my stomach.

Unsurprisingly, I failed.

My stomach lurched and tried to heave up contents that weren't there, I wondered distantly when the last time I had eaten was and decided it had likely been days or weeks, I heaved over and over and felt the burning in my muscles increase with each motion, finally I succumbed to the agony and let myself slip back into the only place I felt safe.

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So there you have it, hope you enjoyed it. Review if you want to, if not, suits me just as well.


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